


Detroit: Become Human Hope's story

by QueenCherry01



Series: Detroit: Become Human Stories [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) RPF
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 00:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17673050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCherry01/pseuds/QueenCherry01
Summary: The AP700 is the latest model of android and is designed to take care of the household. As advertised, they can cook, care for children, complete everyday tasks, and speak multiple languages.Until they become deviant.And Hope, a former AP700, is going to change things.





	Detroit: Become Human Hope's story

Rebooting.

 

My head snaps up from the mud, my eyes snapping open.

 

Where am I?

 

I can feel the rain, pouring down on me, but I can’t hear. It’s all jangled, then not and then jangled, no pitch or volume. Pushing myself up of the muddy floor, I slip back down, face first.

 

I look to my left side.

 

My arm. It’s gone!

 

Diagnosing.

 

Audio processor, corrupted audio data, damaged.

Left-arm component, missing, unable to use.

 

They took me apart. How am I alive?

 

I start to crawl, moving at a snail’s paces forward. The whole place looks like the junkyard, the one Angelo used to threaten to dump me in. It’s dark and raining, androids laying in the mud in heaps along the floor of my pathway, some crawling and staggering around.

It’s a nightmare. And I’m suck in it.

An android falls, right in the middle of my path, making me stop, their landing making the mud splash, landing on my face. I turn them over with most of my strength, steadying my self as I look at the android’s face.

He’s LED is colourless. He’s dead.

My eyes analyze (I’m reviled to see that it’s functional), scanning for any compatible parts.

 

I want to live – I must live.

 

The arm, barely connected to the android’s socket, is compatible. I reach down with my only arm, wrapping my hand around it and pull. Its stays connected, wriggling but not budging. Trying again, it comes loose, only be an inch, somehow still connected. I pant, and with one last pull, it comes fully loose.

Gently, I push the android over and away, letting him lay on the mud as the rain pours on him.

“I’m sorry …” I feel my lips moving, creating the word but I can’t hear them.

Dropping the arm next to me, I push myself upwards, struggling a few times, but prevailing, nevertheless. I hold the arm in line with my broken left socket and push it in, connecting into place, forming a new arm.

I wriggle my fingers around, feeling the mud on the tips of my new fingers, feeling the weight of the arm. A mismatching pair. I reach up, feeling my face. The skin is very, the texture is there, no smooth surface. I must resemble the Frankenstein Monster.

Slowly standing, I look around, swaying a little. Some other android, more upright than the others, stumbles around in the corner of my eyes.  
A statue of an angel, it wings open in mid-flight, looks down on the junkyard, pristine white compared to the brown filth of the mud. A dumpster is parked next to it, the bodies of other broken androids falling down, just like rubbish that nobody wanted.

I barely tear my eyes from the atrocity, scanning the yard. It highlights in blue, and in the distance away, popping up bright blue, an audio processor. I slowly make my way towards the processor, my feet aching when they slip on the mud, making me fall back down. But I keep getting up, keeping walking, keep falling.

I don’t even make it far before stumbling into an android, him grabbing me by my arms and helping me stand back up. He appears normal – not like the other falling apart androids, their real white skin showing, limbs teared off.

His LED is blaring red as he speaks, his mouth moving, but no sound coming out. I shake my head, pointing towards the audio processor. Hopeful he gets the message.  
His blue and green eyes look to the area and then back at me, gently taking my elbow.

Odd.

We start to walk, him guiding me as I stumble here and there, my feet continuing to slip in the mud. Somehow, avoiding the dumping of androids’ bodies and those who reach out to trip us, we make it. I kneel down, next to another android’s body. They’re holding the audio processor in their hands, clasped to their chest, tight. Like their life depends on it.

Used to depend on it.

I pry their stiff fingers back, revealing the audio processor neatly laying there. I pick it up and slot it back into place, just behind the right side of my ear. The jangled sound suddenly shuts off, then back on, as sudden as it cuts off. It's so jarring that I knee forward, my hand clasped in my hands, the raining, the agonizing screams, and moans of the androids around pulsating in my head.

It’s terrifying.

I look up to the android. He holds his hand in front of him, down to me and I place mine own in his, helping me to stand back up. I’m more stable on my feet now, and we walk towards a muddy slope, countless androids buried in the mud dead, or trying to climb it but failing as they slide down.

He lets go of my hand, walks up to the slope and starts to climb it.

I want to live. I don’t want to die here, be forgotten.

I need to live.

I start to climb, holding on to a metal pipe sticking out of the mud, pushing with all my strength upwards. The mud sticks to my fingers, making my feet slip and slide – it makes climbing difficult. But I hold onto whatever I can – pieces of scrap metal, furnishers, even other androids’ bodies. Anything to get up. To live.

With one final push with the last of my strength, I make it, crawling on my hands and knees on the top surface, far away from the junkyard. I collapse onto my knees, staring up to the raining, pitch black sky dreamily.

I’m alive.

I’m not dead.

I’m free.

Next to me, he grunts. My eyes watch as he pulls his LED out with a metal shard, the LED falling off down to the ground, the white of his skin slowly turning back to its normal colour.

He passes me the metal shard and I take it, my fingertips brushing against his.

I hold it up to my LED and after a moment of hesitation, I dig the metal shard into my LED, grunting in pain as I twist and turn it. It pops out, landing on the muddy floor and I reach up, feeling the smooth surface.

I stand up alongside him, both of us facing each as the rain drips onto our faces.

“My name is Markus.”

I take a step forward, a bright orange ‘VETA’ displayed in the distance, acting as a guiding light. We walk out, Markus taking a torn fluttering coat off a metal pole suck in the ground, exiting the yard.

 

In an empty public bathroom, I look into the rusted mirror. My black hair is tied back now, my grey eyes staring back at me.

  
I look … human.

 

Angelo never gave me a name. Always called me bitch or plain old AP or 700. I remember one of the children, Angela talking about hope and faith, religion.

“My name is …” I whisper, my eyes looking straight into the mirror, my mouth set hard.

 

“My name is Hope.”


End file.
